Contemplation Compilation
by midnightluck
Summary: Short stories under 1k providing snapshots of things that are, things that were, and things that really shouldn't be. Crack, creepy, and crazy crossovers ahoy! Currently, an almost songfic that's almost a deathfic, and Conner goes darkside and then he goes home.
1. the city never weeps

_______All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners (Cartoon Network). For a prompt on the YJ_Anon_Meme._

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**the city never weeps (she can't afford the tears)**_______  
_

* * *

The obsession is unhealthy, probably, and he knows, but he doesn't much care.

She's just so _beautiful_. So she's a little run down in some areas, a little beaten down and a whole lot broken, but she's still there, still strong, and that's a type of glamour that doesn't come cheap. Her jewels are the fires of burning hopes, and she decks herself in the broken dreams of those within her.

He came here an orphan, not a Gothamite by birth, and she was cruel, so cruel to him. She took away his life, because she _liked _him. She liked him, and what she likes, she drags in and claims and keeps for her own.

He wears her mark, now, and she couldn't be happier.

Superman once said she was corrupt, a deadly disease. That's as may be, but he's infected, then, and he doesn't care. He needs the dark and the rush and the excitement and the adrenaline and the _life _that she has to offer. There are bars to balance on and roofs to jump and gaps to swing, as he crosses the major roads and keeps a weather eye on her arteries. They lead right to her corrupt heart, he knows, carrying people deep in the shadows, where everyone wants what they shouldn't, and you can sell your soul, or someone else's, to get it.

Everything's for sale in Gotham, even the city herself. So he travels the airways, learning every crook, every cranny, and taking them into himself, embedding her map on his mind. And she helps, you know, she helps him remember, and pushes him towards the places where he's needed, where the pus of the underworld is pushing against the thin skin of society.

She's not beautiful, and she never claimed to be. She's got scars miles wide, and her design is shattered in a million shiny pieces now, but she's grown up. She's _gorgeous _with her gutter glitter, see, and it falls into your eyes and stings until you cry it out.

That's why, when the dawn is breaking and he's exhausted and unable to sleep, she'll wrap a little extra darkness around him and keep him safe from all the nightmares just a little longer.

It's the least she can do for him. For them.

Because Bruce loves her more than Dick ever could. Bruce has that deep, burning passion that can only come from being bred and born and raised and living as a native can. Dick loves her with a desperation that smacks of _don't-leave-me _and so-alone. So she takes them both into her bosom, and when they need it the most, mortar crumbles and falls, or an alleyway is slick under someone's feet, or a streetlight goes out at just the right time.

And Robin, oh, her little acrobat lost, he throws himself over edges and off building and at her, and she catches him, always, because someone needs to. And when he bleeds in her back corners, she licks it up greedily, tying him to her more firmly with every drop. She knows that when he dies, he'll die here, bleeding out and broken and forgotten in one of her back alleys, here in the city of his life, in the city of his death, in the city of all the dreams, even the bad ones.

Some nights, the two swing in tandem, and she watches them, through the eyes of the windows and the pipes and the sockets and the cats. They fit so well together, fit into the puzzle that is her. But she likes it best when they separate, and she's alone with both of them together. One perches high above, another gargoyle for her necklace. And Dick, he plays with her shadows and pays homage to her light and flirts with her heights and ruffles her hair, and she delights in the his motion and his loss and his destiny, giggling and waiting until the day he's only hers, forever.

And some nights, if he's been a very good boy, then sometimes, she'll make sure that the rail will be just under his foot and his grapple will grip sure, and the wind as fresh as starshine will tug him up, and she'll let him kiss her sky.


	2. Twenty Dollars

_______All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners (Cartoon Network, the internet? I think Slendy's creative commons). For a prompt on the YJ_Anon_Meme._

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**$20**

* * *

"Hey, Rob. So, er, I had this dream..."

"Oh, not this again. Seriously? The Slenderman isn't real, okay?"

"It's on the internet, so it has to be true!"

"Are you _serious_?"

"Well, no, but—Oh, come on! Don't you have, like, salt or silver or, or supernatural monster repellent or something in your belt?"

"What? No, of course I don't! Why would I have something like that?"

"Because you're Robin! Okay, look, we need something to keep the Slenderman away!"

"Just...don't pick up a camera, or whatever, okay? I'm trying to do my homework, here."

"This is an _emergency_! What? No, hey, Artemis get that out of my face—omigod, put the camera down! Put it _down_!"

"No way, this is just too good. Kid Flash, big, brave superhero, scared of a ghost story!"

"So I'm a little paranoid, so what! You won't be laughing when he sticks a long, slender, tendrilly arm through your window and erases your memory and makes you bleed from your brain and _eats your face!_!"

"Dude, we're _superheroes_. We can take down any baddie we come across. Chill."

"What part of _controls the minds of children _did you not get?"

"The part where we're 'children'."

"The part where you have to have a brain to have it be controlled."

"You guys! This is serious!"

"Fine. Here, give me your hand. Let me just—"

"Thanks, man. Hey, what are you—That. That's the operator's symbol, omigod, why did you _do _that I'm gonna get eaten I hate you guys—"

"I thought it kept the Slenderman away?"

"—don't wanna die yet I haven't even—"

"Apparently not. Huh."

"—gone skydiving or kissed M'gann or broken the sounds barrier or—"

"Oh, well. Too bad."

"—fought a shark or been to space or ridden an elephant or—"

"Can you make him shut up?"

"All right, all right fine. Hey, lemme borrow some of your sticky foam?"

"—eaten a banana while upside down or—"

"What're you writing? Oh, come on, he's never gonna fall for that!"

"Just watch. Hey, KF!"

"Ow! What was that for—Oh, wow, thanks, man, I knew you'd have something! Be right back bye!"

"...He seriously took it. It really worked. But. But it was just air freshener with a handmade label that said 'Slenderman-B-Gone'. How is that even...?"

"I dunno. But it got him to shut up, and the base will smell better, too."

"Hey, okay, Rob, you sure this stuff'll work? It smells kind of pine-y and citrus-y, and I thought he liked forests and key lime pie, so are you sure?"

"You know what? Here, if the Slenderman does come for you, just give him this, and he'll leave you alone, okay?"

"What does money have to do with anything?"

"Thanks, this is perfect! Here, tape it to my back, will you? So if he sneaks up behind me—Yeah, perfect! I'm just gonna wash off this symbol, then. Back in a flash!"

"...That was mean."

"How was it mean? He gets reassurance, I keep my twenty dollars, and the others get to see him run around with a 'Kick Me' sign. Win all the way around."

"...Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Now, where's the fun in that?"


	3. The Magic School Bus Meets Wallace West

_______All recognizable characters belong to their respective owners (Cartoon Network, Joanna Cole). For a prompt on the YJ_Anon_Meme._

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**The Magic School Bus Meets Wallace West  
**

_(and one of them is unhappy about this)**  
**_

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"-Remember, the problem set is due tomorrow, and the test is Thursday! Class dismissed, and Wally, could I see you for a second?"

Wally wasn't surprised to be called by name; he was on good terms with most all his teachers, especially the ones who taught the interesting classes, like physics or chemistry. The thing was, he was quite sure his grades were high; he'd aced the last test. He couldn't think of any other reason offhand for her to call him out like this.

So it was with curiosity and a little trepidation that Wally approached Ms. Wilhem's desk.

He shifted a little, waiting for all the kids to stream past him. Finally, Ms. Wilhem said, "Wally, I wanted to talk to you about a special opportunity."

Which was exciting, really, it was, except he didn't really have _time _for special opportunities. Being a high schooler and a superhero kinda cut into his social life enough as it was.

"One of my fellow teachers was talking about taking on a teaching assistant, and she wanted someone bright and quick and good with kids, so I thought, if you would like, I could recommend you."

And, nice as that sounded, dealing with young kids was not his choice of how to spend an afternoon, especially since villains don't keep schedules. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she wasn't quite done.

"Of course, you'll be well compensated for your time, and it would count on a resume and college application."

Wally blinked. "When do I start?"

* * *

He sighed, and hitched his bag up higher on his shoulder. It hadn't been a particularly long run to get here, but staring at the brick building caused his stomach to sink, just a little.

Walkerville Elementary School was a typical school, by all accounts. The town itself was the typical suburb of Central City, near enough to allow for commuting, but far enough away to be...quaint.

Wally pushed open the door, and made his way to the front desk. "Hello?" he asked cautiously. "I'm the new assistant for-"

"Straight down the hall last door on the left, all the way at the end," the lady rattled off, not bothering to look at him.

"Er," he said, and blinked. "Thank you? I mean, are there any forms I need to fill out, or-"

"I can send you in to discuss it with the principal, if you like," she answered, jerking her thumb over her shoulder towards a door labeled, "MR RHULE PRINCIPAL". There was a silhouette of a frankly terrifying size behind it, so he quickly stuttered out, "Thanks, I'll just, you said that way thanks again-" and was gone.

He did not have fond memories of elementary school, and this place was distinctly _not helping_.

Wandering down the hall, he wondered absently why there only seemed to be the one classroom down this way. It was a moderately sized school; surely they couldn't afford to just waste space...?

Something went _BOOM_, followed by a shriek of laughter, and suddenly the lack of surrounding rooms made total sense.

He reached the room, hesitated, took a deep breath, and let it go. And another, and another. It wasn't like he was scared to go into a third-grade classroom, not at all. It was just _mental preparation_, was all, because third-graders were all bound to be little maniacs. Still, it could not possibly worse than trying to get that principal to let him out of this.

It couldn't be, right?

He opened the door, and remained just outside the threshold, glancing in. There were _far too many_ kids, and they were bouncing on some sort of ridiculously large balloon-thing, _in the classroom_, and one said something in a high voice that he immediately recognized came from exposure to helium.

"Why does your voice go all high when you breathe from a balloon?" A kid in a red hat asked, and Wally looked around, trying to spot the teacher.

"Well," a voice trilled. "There are a lot of reasons, Ralphie. Gases are elements of the world, and they're all in the air, all around us. And each has a fascinating special property!"

He found himself staring at—yellow. Lots of yellow. Yards of billowy yellow, broken up by random balloon prints, and wisps of what he assumed were neon gases. This was topped with balloon earrings, and, Wally noticed with mounting horror, frazzled red hair and _holy crap was that a lizard?_

"Really?" A young girl in pink and red asked, clutching a balloon tightly. "Like what?"

The insane lady he assumed to be teacher winked. "Excellent question, Wanda! You know, this sounds like it might be a good time for-"

"A FIELD TRIP!" everyone in the room chorused.

A redhead hiding in the corner groaned, and said, "I knew I should have stayed home today!"

Wally had never ever agreed more with anything in his whole entire _life_.


	4. If I Die Young

_Based vaguely on the song of the same name by The Band Perry. _

_**Warning: **Er, ambiguous character death? Character crippling, at the very least, depending.  
_

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**If I Die Young**

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She hates this school, sometimes.

The clock is ticking by so slow, slow enough to taunt her, because there's only an hour or so left and it's _Geometry_. She does more complex calculations in her head on a daily basis.

She flicks the pen in her hand, tapping the mostly empty page in front of her. There's a line of doodles down the side, little hearts and song lyrics and the like.

But there's only an hour, and then she can head for the training rooms and computers and others. Head for that place that's pretty much her home now.

And that reminds her; Batman and his instructions. He seemed so foreboding, but after a while it had become comforting, in a twisted sort of way. The dark shadows become something safe, instead of worrisome.

But he'd taken her aside a while ago, telling her about protocols and contingency plans and pussyfooting around the _I need your will for if you die _that he wasn't going to say.

But it's more than that; it's what she wants done if she's in a coma or kidnapped, brainwashed or broken. Not if it comes down to her or innocents, though; that choice was made the moment she donned the mask.

It doesn't scare her like it might. She may be relatively new to this game, but you don't even go out on patrol without being ready to die. That's the way the game works, and in Gotham, there are no rules. She's made her peace with the fact that she'll die young.

Because, to be honest, the only thing she can really ask for is to die well and to make a difference with it. If she can save even one life, well. That's her job as a hero, right?

And, really, who wants to get old? Old and grey and creaky and unable to run or jump or tumble or aim. No thank you, she's happy to never be that, ever. Her life hasn't always been the easiest or happiest, but the place she's at now is good. It's been a good run.

It's an odd dichotomy, imagining dying next week and graduation a few years away. She can see herself bleeding out on the pavement as easily as she can getting married. And she even thinks she might know who the (un)lucky guy might be; half the stuff he says is designed just to piss her off, but underneath it, he's sweet, and nice, and painfully sincere. This thing they have, it's new and fragile, though, so she won't push it too hard.

She smiles a little, and comes back from her daydreams. As long as she's bored, she may as well start that list for Batman.

No big, shiny funeral; she'd be afraid of who would (or wouldn't) come. Cremation if possible, and definitely roses. It's cliché, so sue her, but it's her funeral and she wants roses, okay? And some nice music, not that dreadful boring stuff. She vaguely considers Rickrolling people from beyond the grave and wonders if that would be in bad taste. Then she realizes it's something _he _would do, and like hell is she gonna do it now.

No crying, though. She knows she can't ask that, but she would if she could.

She idly scratches out some other cases, and tops it off with the work for the problem on the board. When the bell rings, she's slow to put the notebook away.

"You in there?" Dick Grayson asks, propping a hip on the desk next to hers. "Seem kinda distant today."

She scowls at him. She's still not sure why he started talking to her, but she hasn't been able to get him to stop, probably because she doesn't really want him to.

She wouldn't even be able to afford this school if not for the aid they're giving her, and his _rich-ness_ reminds of that. And she's not in the mood to untangle his convoluted vocabulary today; she just wants to get out of here and to _fly._

"Yeah, fine," she dismisses. "Just gotta get home early today." She brushes past him and out the door before he can follow.

The walk home is long, but not too bad. She could probably have asked Dick, or anyone else, for a ride, but she's been thinking about death and she wants to _move, _just to remind herself that contingency plans are for contingencies.

Her steps quicken when she turns onto her street and it's not too much longer before she's through her front door.

She notes the shoes and coat and calls out, "I'm home!" She heads up the stairs, letting her backpack slide off her shoulders.

"In here!" comes from the kitchen, so she drops the bag on the stairs, and heads back down. She jumps the railing over the last few stairs, just because she can. Her legs pull up as she goes over, and she smiles into the landing. She couldn't ever imagine living in a wheelchair; that has to be so _boring._

The doorbell rings, though, so she swings back around. "I got it!" she yells, and stands on tip-toe to look through the peephole.

There's a policeman on the other side, one she doesn't quite recognize. "It's for you!" she calls over her shoulder, unlatching the door.

And when it's open, she sees her mistake because it isn't a policeman, just a cardboard cutout of one. And a horrifyingly familiar face pops out from behind it.

"Hello, pretty thing," the Joker coos. "Is your daddy at home?"

And she turns, trusting her body to get up, get out, get _away_, and gets out the "Run!" part of her warning.

Then there's a boom and a punch through her back and she trips over the stairs and hits the ground.

And this is wrong, all wrong, because she's getting cold but it's summer, and yes, _Batgirl _is gonna die young, she knows that, but Barbara Gordon was gonna graduate and get married, maybe, and-

She blinks, still gasping for enough air to warn her dad, even as the Joker steps over her. And it's kinda funny, you know, 'cause she got the 'eyes closed' part of the blink down, but she's having a lot of trouble opening them again.

* * *

_...the next one's far less depressing, I swear._


	5. Home is Where You Hang Your Heart

_Written for the (paraphrased) prompt "Conner gets tired of waiting on Superman, turns evil, and the team totally understands."_

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**Home is Where You Hang Your Heart**

* * *

He takes a deep breath, and then steps into the zeta-tube. There's a bright flash, and he instinctively closes his eyes against it.

And then he's somewhere else entirely and doesn't want to open his eyes, because he's afraid of what—of whom—he might see.

The computer announces his name and he does open his eyes, does step out into the cave. There's no one there, except for how there is now because Wally comes skidding around the corner.

"Bro!" he shouts, and "Conner! Dude, where have you been it's so nice to see you!" He uses Conner's waist as a break, incidentally giving him a superspeed hug.

"I was…here and there," Conner says weakly. When Wally lets him go and steps back to look at him, he clarifies, "There, mostly."

"Yeah, no kidding," comes Robin's voice, and suddenly, there's an acrobat on his shoulder. Robin's lounging across his arm, resting his torso against Conner's head. He finds he doesn't mind. "We haven't seen you in forever, Conner."

And this right here, this is what he was dreading. "Yes, you have." And they did, kind of. They saw him last week, heeling Luthor's henchmen from a Wayne Enterprises R&D lab.

There's a hand on his unoccupied shoulder, and he turns to see Kaldur looking him over. "No," Kaldur says. "We haven't seen _Conner _in forever."

And he has to blink, because this is why he risked it, this is why he stepped into the beam, this is why he tosses and turns at night; missing this. And he'd been afraid, so afraid that they'd do what Superman did, and that it would drive him further into the darkness.

But Artemis steps into the hanger, and waves and yells, "There you are, you idiot!" and M'gann is right behind her, staring at him, breath caught in throat.

And he opens his mouth, wants to ask, _so I'm forgiven? _but he can't because that's not what he needs. He doesn't need to be forgiven; this was his choice alone and he doesn't regret it, not really. He doesn't need their forgiveness because he hasn't done anything that needs forgiving.

Megan comes flying at him, and he feels Wally take a double-quick step away from him and Robin slide down his back. He opens his arms, and catches her. She tucks her head into his shoulder, and makes an odd sighing, sobbing sound. He really, really hopes she isn't crying, because he has no idea what to do about that. Cadmus didn't teach him how to deal with crying girls.

He looks up and sees Robin mouthing, _it's okay_, so he says, "It's okay," though he doesn't know why. And M'gann sniffs and looks up at him, and yes, there are tears in her eyes, but her smile is a mile wide and pure joy.

"Don't disappear again," she says, and squeezes him tighter.

And he looks around at his friends, still his friends, even after all the stuff he's done for his father, and says, "I'm…sorry. I didn't know if I'd be…welcome here."

M'gann slips backwards, and Kaldur holds out his arm. Conner grasps it in warrior's—a brother's—grip of greeting. "No matter what," Kaldur says, and when Conner's eyes slip over to Artemis and Wally, Kaldur waits until his attention is on him again. "No matter what, you are _always _welcome here."

"It's your home, isn't it?" M'gann asks, still smiling, still trying to keep the tears from falling.

And he looks at Robin, beaming at him, and Kaldur, still grasping his forearm, and Megan with her joy and Artemis who's nodding, and Wally who's got a grin as wide as Robin's.

"Yeah," he says, and has to swallow, because for some reason, it's hard to get words out of his throat. For all he's got a house now, and a father, he still knows this fact for truth; "Yeah, this is my home."


End file.
